


κύανος

by carmen



Category: Inception (2010), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmen/pseuds/carmen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Appearances and sensations in the bedroom, or, FrostMoney revisited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	κύανος

The ice puddles under Loki’s fingertips, which are a bloodless cyanotic color somehow not unattractive against the peach-pink of Fischer’s abdomen; Fischer’s glass now stands sweating in the heat but empty. He hasn’t had enough to be _drunk_ , but to have acquired a slight and pleasant warmth. And his shirt is wet, untucked, unbuttoned. 

A melted droplet of water runs down his side in one brief moment and then vanishes in the Egyptian-cotton sheets. The invisible soft hairs on his abdomen all prick up at the cold, and something else might be reliably said to stir as well; Loki’s arm rests too close to his groin and Fischer can also feel the insistent metallic edge of one of his gauntlets pressing into the soft V of his hip, or perhaps it’s his own belt buckle. He may not be well-tanned, but his skin is interrupted with the occasional freckle, the red pinprick of a visible blood vessel, the variations in skin tone that a vainer man would easily foresee becoming coarse with age. Loki’s body is an expanse of eggshell whiteness, the only color to be accounted for being (naturally, dark) hair. Except at times like these, where his beautiful extremities are turning colors human beings do not normally turn. He seems to be considering Robert’s body very thoughtfully, frail and mortal though it may be, and Fischer can’t say he’s not doing the same. 

Loki plucks out one of the ice cubes deftly between finger and thumb, and traces a line between Fischer’s navel and the waistband of his expensive briefs. His physical response is immediate, bracing himself in practically a shudder as his mind isolates that alone, that one sensation and not the belt buckle or his sore arousal or the burn in his throat. The sensation increases as the ice finds the most tender square inch of skin that’s not a nipple or located on his cock, and a sort of sound escapes him, despite himself. When Loki notes his reaction he simply presses down -- or some other strangeness occurs, the cold turns from deliciously spreading and watery to an insistent sharpness, like a cooled knife-edge pressing against his flesh. He lowers his head and breathes on him a little, a soft breath that is almost like a laugh. 

“You’re quivering, you impudent slut. So much for your vaunted self-possession.”

Fischer can’t even manage a dry retort; desire renders him useless, fascinated and disgusted by Loki’s corpse-blue fingers. As soon as they were finished, Fischer intends to take him into the hotel room’s adjoining sauna and teach him something about extremes.


End file.
